After an evening at the coffee shop, The Partner and I come home to find white fluffs strewn about the floor of the living room. This has been a somewhat regular occurrence since we placed a small waste basket in the living room to make throwing away small things easier. I guess. I’m not sure why we decided to put a waste basket in the living room, seeing as how the actual garbage container is in the closet in the kitchen, maybe two feet away from the waste basket. Whatever; it’s there, and sometimes folks throw in tissues, so it’s been common for George to dig them out and lick/eat them—because he’s a dog and dogs like humans and their secretions.

We start to clean it up and I pick up a little fluff and when I get to look at it close up, I realize it’s more like a fluff of cotton. “Did you throw a cotton ball in the basket?”

The Partner answers in the negative and it is then that I remember that before we left for the coffee shop Vicki and I had talked about our cycles being in sync and then I remembered how she took care of her female duty and HOLY SHIT SHE PUT HER PAD IN THE BATHROOM WASTE BASKET. I tell The Partner, “Oh, then this is Vic’s pad. Her bloody pad.”

Our dog is fucking gross.

Guilty.